


Demons

by LiselleVelvet



Series: Alternative Ferris Air [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, could be shippy or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7137716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiselleVelvet/pseuds/LiselleVelvet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmares don't discriminate.</p><p>Written as a reaction to Barry's nightmares in Season 2 Episode 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissSugarPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSugarPlum/gifts), [RedHead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/gifts).



> Prompted by @redcharade on tumblr: One character playing with the other's hair. Len finds out about a little-known fact about Barry, that he practically purrs when someone plays with his hair in just the right way.
> 
> And expanded on, a little.

Barry shot bolt upright, shouting, lashing out. Eyes wild, panting, drenched in sweat. 

Shaking. Exhausted. He was always so tired. Hadn’t been able to get a decent night’s sleep since…since Zoom. 

Here, alone, in the dark he was willing to admit that he was not ok. Not fine. Unless fine meant ‘freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional’. Then he was fine, because that was basically his only state lately. Had been for months. 

Felt like a spectator to his own life. Watching Joe and Iris welcome a new son and brother, watching Patty leave, watching Caitlin and Cisco move on, create their own lives. Watching his dad go as far away as possible, as soon as he was free. 

Didn’t blame them. Couldn’t. Part of why he moved out, on the off chance that creating more distance would make them less of a target when Zoom came back. 

Because Barry knew, he  _ knew _ he was still powerless to stop him. Even more out-muscled than he ever was against Eobard Thawne. 

“Kid? You ok?” 

Shit. That was the last thing he needed. Barry would’ve sighed, if he had the breath for it. Snart was crashing on his couch for…some reason. Didn’t offer an explanation and Barry couldn’t be bothered to ask for one. 

Knew Snart wouldn’t off him in his sleep. Or at all, really. He did make a lousy villain. 

“Yeah, fine. Sorry to wake you.” That should be that. 

Except it wasn’t. Snart gently opened his door, sharp eyes quickly assessing him. Seeing through any (pitiful) attempt he could’ve made to pull himself together, before turning around and leaving.

Barry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Good.

But his reprieve didn’t last long–Snart was soon back with a glass of water, padding into his room to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headboard. 

“Here,” he passed Barry the glass. “Slowly now, Scarlet. There’s plenty.”

Barry felt himself obeying the low, soothing voice. Soaking up warmth from the solid form not quite touching him. 

He finished the glass, handing it back. 

“Want another?”

His hesitation must’ve been interpreted as a ‘yes’, because Snart got to his feet, glass in hand. Barry settled back into the pillows, only to sit back up–they were wet and clammy. Should probably change them instead of just flipping them over, but...effort. 

Soft footsteps heralded the return of his ‘guest’. This time he sat even closer, Barry’s shoulder touching his hip, holding the glass loosely, in case Barry wanted more. 

Just a solid, surprisingly comforting presence next to him. Didn’t ask him what it was about, prod him into sharing, get upset when he wouldn’t. Just sat there, small point of contact reminding Barry that he wasn’t alone. 

Barry tried to get comfortable without losing that simple connection, but it was no use. Every time he closed his eyes he saw flashes of blue lightning, felt weightless and helpless, a broken ragdoll in the hands of a giant.  

The bed shifted, accompanied by the sound of glass on wood. Shifted back. Barry squirmed more, wanting to press closer, wrap around Snart…or let Snart wrap around him so he could steal more warmth…let someone else be strong, for once. 

But he knew how much the thief avoided touch–it was impossible not to notice–and Barry didn’t want him to leave. 

He glanced up, finding cool blue eyes fixed on his face, studying him. Considering something. 

His hand made an abortive move, almost hesitant, falling to the pillow not far from Barry’s head. But Leonard Snart never hesitated. Except…except sometimes he did. With Lisa. With Barry. 

Long fingers stretched, teasing the ends of Barry’s hair, making the speedster sigh and relax, just a little. Maintaining eye contact. 

Something…softened. In Cold’s eyes, on his face. Fingers growing bolder until he was stroking Barry’s hair properly. Careful of tangles, fluffing strands as they dried. 

It wasn't long before Barry’s eyes were drooping, fully relaxed for the first time in  _ ages _ . That was probably why he forgot himself, shifting to nuzzle against Snart’s hip like he did with Iris when he was little. When she was the one soothing away his nightmare. 

The gentle fingers never stopped, although they did waver. 

“Go to sleep, Barry. I’ll keep watch.”

* * *

Len had no idea what he’d been thinking. Warning Barry about Mardon and Jesse’s plan had been honorable, but stupid. Been in such a hurry to even things out between himself and the speedster that he didn’t put due consideration into the consequences.

Hadn’t expected the news to get out. 

It did, though. Somehow. 

Mardon put a price on his head--a nuisance more than anything else. Just dangerous enough--and tempting enough--to be taken seriously. Lise and Mick understood his actions (even if Mick was vocal about his disagreement), didn’t want them dragged into it. 

Which was how he found himself on Barry Allen’s couch--wasn’t sure  _ why _ he went to the kid’s new place, why the kid didn’t do more than roll his eyes and ask his opinion on takeout. Why he was still there.

Why he was sitting on the kid’s bed, long fingers sifting through impossibly soft hair while the other snuggled against his leg. Len sighed, shifted into a more comfortable lean on the off chance he’d be able to fall back to sleep. 

Wasn’t the first time Barry’s nightmares woke him up in the seventeen days he’d been crashing there, but this was the worst. By a wide margin.

Other times he’d been able to wake the kid by opening and closing some cabinets, putting the dishwasher ahead...turning on the TV just loud enough to take the  _ silence _ away. But not tonight. Had to bang on the wall to wake him up. 

Couldn’t leave it alone, either. Not after listening to Barry scream like that. Even though Len  _ knew _ he wasn’t physically hurt. Psychological scars are much harder to push past. Can’t cover ‘em up with ink, or make up bullshit to turn marks given by his asshole father during one of his ‘lessons’ into a bar fight gone wrong. Marks...marks were one thing. Trying to get past the knee-jerk reaction...not to expect the jagged slice of a broken bottle for kissing another man...that took a hell of a lot longer to deal with.

To hear those same screams--ones he knew Lisa spent years dealing with because he spent just as long helping with hers--from someone so...Barry didn’t deserve that. Not after what happened with his parents, not after all the  _ good _ he did. 

Wasn’t gonna make the speedster deal with that on his own. Not that Len was great at the whole thing, but...at least he could offer his presence...a reminder that Barry wasn’t alone. That he was in his own apartment, not wherever his mind--his memories--had him trapped. He wasn’t there...wasn’t stuck. That he was safe.

Well...as safe as he could be with his nemesis squatting in his apartment. 

Something Len refused to admit Lisa was right about. That he was too...fascinated by the Scarlet Speedster to mean the kid any actual harm. 

Felt his limbs grow heavy, eyelids droop from too many nights without enough rest on a couch that was  _ not _ meant for sleeping on. From worrying about the fallout from this mess with Mardon spilling over onto Lise and Mick...and from his own demons whenever he closed his eyes. 

 


End file.
